


Olive

by moonbaby11 (ushnuu)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Haunting, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ushnuu/pseuds/moonbaby11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrtle Warren's death may have been the end of her life, but it was only the beginning of her revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olive

**June 11, 1943  
  
Hogwarts Corridor  
  
1:03 pm**  
  
“Nice glasses, Myrtle!” Olive Hornby calls as she walks through the corridors of Hogwarts school, her best friend Elsie Droope sniggering at her words. Myrtle Warren looks up from the textbooks she is clutching tightly to her chest, her large brown eyes staring out at them behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Her bottom lips quivers.  
  
“Aww, is ugly little Myrtle going to cry?” Elsie asks, her words dripping with venom.  
  
“Leave me alone,” Myrtle says softly, licking her lips.  
  
“Oh, I hope she does,” says Olive, glancing over at her friend with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Maybe if she cries she will take off those awful glasses.” Olive can see the tears already welling up in Myrtle’s eyes and she laughs. It is so easy to tease Myrtle. She is one of the most sensitive people that Olive has ever met and only a few choice words can set her off, send her into tears as she runs for her dormitory - one of her safe havens during class time when she can sob into her pillow in solitude - or the closest lavatory.  
  
“Maybe you would actually have some friends if you did not wear those awful glasses,” Elsie says with a smirk.  
  
Olive glances over at her friends. “But don’t you know about her terrible personality? The ugly glasses just stop everyone from having to put up with all of her whining.”  
  
Myrtle bursts into sobs, turning in the opposite direction and running through the crowds of students to find some place where she can be alone. The students barely bat an eye at her. Myrtle Warren running crying through the hallways is normal. She will return to the Great Hall for dinner, eyes rimmed with red, and eat in silence.  
  
“She really can’t take a joke,” Elsie mutters, rolling her eyes. The two girls begin to walk once more, heading for the dungeons. Potions is their next class and Olive is ecstatic. She loves Professor Slughorn and the art of potions has always been interesting to her. It is her favourite class.  
  
“She’s such a baby,” Olive replies with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, I don’t want to be late for class.” Elsie nods in agreement and the two begin to hurry through the second floor corridor.  
  
**June 11, 1943  
  
Potions Classroom  
  
2:07 pm**  
  
Less than five minutes into class, all thoughts of Myrtle Warren had disappeared from Olive’s mind. She is in her element now, working over the heated cauldron, chopping up roots and crushing fangs to add to the masterpiece that she is working on with Elsie.  
  
Professor Slughorn is doing rounds and he stops to peer over their cauldron. “Well done,” he says looking up at them, a smile breaking out over his round face.  
  
“Thank you, Professor,” Olive says with a small smile of her own.  
  
“Very well done,” he repeats with a nod. “Five points to Ravenclaw.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Elsie says, beaming alongside her friend. Elsie is almost helpless when it comes to Potions, but Olive’s skills make up for it. It is why they always work together on partner assignments. Olive can’t just sit back and watch her friend struggle. Even if she is doing most of the work, it is worth it. Elsie can’t fail, Olive knows that she can’t. Her sister is a fifth year Ravenclaw, a prefect and someone that Olive is sure will receive straight Os on her OWLs. Elsie has been stuck in her sister’s shadow for a long time and Olive knows that if she fails a single one of her exams she will never be able to escape Margot’s reputation.  
  
“Thank you,” Elsie whispers to Olive as Professor Slughorn begins to examine the potion of the Hufflepuffs seated behind them. Olive merely nods, glancing down to the root that she had been chopping moments before. They sit in silence. As Olive is adding the root to the potion, Elsie speaks up again. “It’s been an hour. Where’s Myrtle?”  
  
Olive’s eyebrows furrow together and she looks up from the potion, glancing towards the back of the room. Myrtle’s normal spot is currently unoccupied, the poor soul that normally has to work with her on potions is stirring the cauldron by himself. “Probably still crying,” Olive replies nonchalantly.  
  
“You don’t think that thing got to her?” Elsie asks and she begins to wring her hands.  
  
“Don’t be daft,” Olive replies. “She’s probably still upset that we made fun of her glasses again.”  
  
“You aren’t even a little bit worried about her?”  
  
“Why would I be?” Olive asks. “This isn‘t the first time she has spent the whole class crying.” She can hardly believe it, but Elsie is beginning to sound as if she is feeling sorry for Myrtle. Olive sighs, continuing to work. She never thought she would see the day when someone cared about Myrtle Warren.  
  
**June 11, 1943  
  
Ravenclaw Table, Great Hall  
  
5:45 pm**  
  
Olive does not give a second thought to Myrtle Warren’s absence until part of the way through dinner. “Can you pass the peas?” she says to Elsie, her eyes quickly scanning the table for anything else that she may want seconds of. Myrtle Warren is not present. While her absence in Potions and Herbology was understandable - she has skipped classes on multiple occasions because of insults thrown at her by Olive Hornby and the other Ravenclaws - she has never seen Myrtle miss a meal. Thoughts of what Elsie had said in Potions begin to rush back to her, thoughts about the thing that has been petrifying some of the students, sending them to the Hospital Wing. Olive begins to chew on her bottom lip nervously as she takes the bowl of peas from Elsie and begins to spoon them onto her plate.  
  
As she is setting the bowl down, Olive sees a few students out of the corner of her eye straighten up. Someone behind her clears their throat and Olive turns to see Headmaster Dippet standing behind her. Her eyes widen in surprise. “Good evening, sir,” she says, quickly raising her hands to her hair in an attempt to make herself look more presentable.  
  
“Good evening, Ms. Hornby,” he says with a nod. “Ms. Droope.”  
  
“Good evening, Professor,” Elsie says.  
  
“Ms. Hornby, may I have a word with you?” he asks. Olive nods her head slowly, unsure of what else she can do. She has never spoken to the Headmaster one on one before. Olive Hornby is a good girl. Despite what she does to Myrtle - which is all in good fun, anyways - she keeps up her grades and is always in bed at curfew. She has never snuck out and she has never attempted to pull any sort of pranks. Quite honestly, she has no idea what Professor Dippet wants with her.  
  
He leads her out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. Olive looks up expectantly at the Headmaster as they stop just outside the doors.  
  
“Professor Slughorn tells me that Myrtle Warren was not present in Potions class this afternoon,” he says. Olive is not sure if it is a question or a statement, but she nods her head in agreement. “And Professor Beery tells me she missed Herbology as well.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Olive says with another nod.  
  
“I know you two share a dormitory. Have you seen her since?” Professor Dippet asks.  
  
“No sir,” she responds. “I saw her at lunch, but I have not seen her since.”  
  
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”  
  
“The lavatory?” she guesses. “She does like to spend a lot of time in there.” Olive tries not to smirk at her own words. Myrtle spends so much time in the lavatory partly because of her and Elsie and all of their teasing. “Would you like me to go look for her, Professor?” Olive offers, hoping that perhaps this will keep her in the Headmaster’s good books. She hears whispers that he is tough on students that need to be punished and she does not want to find out first hand if the whispers are true or not.  
  
“That would be much appreciated. Thank you, Ms. Hornby.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
**June 11, 1943  
  
Girl’s Bathroom, Second Floor  
  
5:59 pm  
**  
Olive pushes the door to the second floor girl’s lavatory open and steps inside. If Myrtle had run to any one of the bathrooms, it would have been this one. “Are you in here sulking again, Myrtle?” she calls out, rolling her eyes. Only Myrtle Warren would sob in a bathroom for five hours. She steps further into the lavatory. “Because Professor Dippet asked me to look for you-” Olive stops cold, eyes widening and her hands quickly clasping over her mouth to contain a scream. Myrtle Warren’s body is lying on the ground before her, dead. Olive feels herself go weak at the knees and she begins to wonder if she will even be able to make it out of the lavatory without crumpling to the ground.  
  
“Hello, Olive.” She has to be imagining it. She has to hearing things. She swears that she just heard Myrtle Warren say her name, but how is that possible? She can see Myrtle’s cold, dead, body in front of her. No, she is probably just going into shock. That is the only reasonable explanation. “Oooh Olive, look over here.”  
  
Slowly, not quite sure what she is expecting to see, Olive turns her head to the right. Myrtle Warren is sitting on one of the sinks, but it can’t be Myrtle Warren. No, Myrtle Warren is dead, lying on the ground in front of her. That can’t be Myrtle Warren.  
  
Without even commanding her legs to do so, Olive finds herself running out of the bathroom. “Professor Dippet!” she screams, tears of fear beginning to form in her blue eyes. “Professor Dippet! Headmaster!” Olive swears she can hear someone laughing at her expense, but she also swore that she could still hear Myrtle Warren so are her senses really to be trusted right now?  
  
A hand reaches out to grab Olive’s shoulder and she shrieks, spinning around and receiving a face full of Professor Dumbledore’s long, auburn beard. “Ms. Hornby?” the Transfiguration Professor asks, his face clouded with concern. “What is it?”  
  
Olive opens her mouth in an attempt to explain but she can’t manage any words. She begins to cry, more out of fear for how she will be punished for teasing Myrtle than anything else, and gestures behind her in the direction of the girl’s lavatory. “M- M- Myrtle Warren,” she manages to sputter out, her whole body shaking and her cheeks beginning to streak with tears. “D- D- Dead.”  
  
**June 11, 1943  
  
Headmaster’s Office  
  
6:22 pm**  
  
She has been sitting in Professor Dippet’s office for ten minutes, all alone. The portraits of the past Headmasters on the wall are staring down at her and Olive is trying her hardest to keep her eyes glued to her shoes. She does not want to look at them, to see their accusing eyes. They know. They must know. Everyone has to know that she is the one that has caused this. She is the reason Myrtle Warren is dead. If she had just walked past her today without a word, if she had stopped before Myrtle had sobbed and run off towards the lavatory perhaps her insides would not be twisting into knots.  
  
Professor Dippet and Professor Dumbledore step into the office. Olive looks up, wiping at her eyes as she turns to look at them. “You can go back to Ravenclaw Tower,” Professor Dippet says. “We will be addressing the whole school on the matter. You can get some rest.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” Olive says, rising to her feet and leaving the room. She can’t look either of them in the eye. She knows they know. It is common knowledge that Olive and Elsie pick on Myrtle, but everyone looked away. She is sure that even the professors don’t - didn’t - like Myrtle Warren so they hadn’t minded. Besides, they were only kids. Olive and Elsie had just been looking to have a little bit of fun.  
  
Somehow her feet manage to carry her all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. She can barely remember walking there. She is still in a state of shock. The doorknob poses a riddle and somehow she manages to answer it correctly, walking into the common room and heading straight for her dormitory.  
  
Pushing the door open, Olive collapses onto her bed, the tears beginning to spill out of her eyes once more. No matter how much she may try, she knows this will always be on her conscience. She is only thirteen. Thirteen year olds make mistakes. This was a mistake - all the bullying, all the teasing, all of the name calling. She had never meant for Myrtle Warren to die.  
  
Out of the corner of her tear blurred vision, Olive sees something. She sits up quickly, wiping at her eyes, trying to get a better look. Nothing. Olive sighs. She must be seeing things again. She is about to lie back down on her bed when she sees something else, this time to her right. Olive turns her head and sees, for the briefest of moments, a blue blur fly past her face. “He- Hello?” she calls out, her hands beginning to shake once more. Perhaps it is the Grey Lady, dropping in for a visit. “Hello?”  
  
“Hello, Olive.” The blur stops in front of Olive’s face and takes focus. A transparent, pimply face, long, stringy pigtails, and thick glasses are only inches from Olive’s eyes. She screams.  
  
**  
June 12, 1943  
  
Ravenclaw Common Room  
  
2:47 am  
**  
Olive can’t sleep. She tries, but each time she lays her head on the pillow, all she can see is Myrtle’s body lying dead in the lavatory. Eventually she gives up on sleep and heads down to the common room, taking a seat by the fire. She has finally stopped crying and finally stopped shaking. The shock has worn off and now she just feels guilty. Her insides keep twisting and turning and Olive is beginning to wonder if she will ever be able to eat again because she doubts she will ever be able to keep any food down.  
  
The common room is quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Olive leans back and watches the flames as they dance in the fireplace, trying to force her mind to go anywhere else besides thoughts of Myrtle. Her brain, however, seems to be alternating between thoughts of Myrtle’s dead body and the ghostly figure she has seen twice now, clearly invented by her subconscious to punish her for what she has done. She has not spoken to Elsie yet. When the four other girls entered the room that night, Olive had pretended to be asleep. She did not want to talk about what had happened, even if Myrtle Warren’s bed now sat empty in their dormitory as a stark reminder of what they had all done wrong.  
  
Olive sits up quickly, spotting a blur out of the corner of her eye, the same blur she had seen earlier in the dormitory. “Oh Olive!” a voice calls out, and this time the girl is sure that she is not making it up.  
  
“M- Myrtle?” she manages to spit out, spinning her head to try and find the girl in the room somewhere. “Myrtle? Is that you?”  
  
“You did this to me!” the voice shrieks and Olive still can’t find the source, but now she is certain. Myrtle Warren is dead, but has come back as a ghost. Of course. If she had found the afterlife satisfying enough to stay there then things would have been too easy on Olive.  
  
“N- no! I didn’t!” Olive shouts, clasping her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound of Myrtle screaming at her.  
  
“But you did! You are awful! You made me cry, and now I’m dead!” Olive sees the blur fly past her and stop to her right. She slowly turns her head and Myrtle is floating there, looking exactly the same in death as she did in life.  
  
“I didn’t mean too!”  
  
“You were so awful to me!” Myrtle shouts at her. “Oooh, you were awful!”  
  
“Stop!” Olive cries, jumping to her feet, hands dropping to her side as she stares at the ghost of Myrtle Warren, her eyes threatening to spill tears once more.  
  
“Olive?” There a foot steps on the stairs and Elsie is entering the common room. She gets one fleeting look at Myrtle before she flies out of Ravenclaw Tower. Her eyes widen slightly. “What was that?” she asks.  
  
“Myrtle Warren.”  
  
**June 21, 1943  
  
Black Lake  
  
4:02 pm**  
  
Exams have been cancelled due to the death of Myrtle Warren, but the students still have to remain at school until the end of term. Olive desperately wishes that Professor Dippet would send them all home early. Every day she finds herself checking over her shoulder for Myrtle’s ghost who shows up at the most unexpected moments. The day before she had been washing her hands in the fourth floor lavatory when Myrtle had appeared right behind her, shrieking about how Olive had caused her death. It is starting to get to her, and the only hope she has is that she will be safe come the summer break.  
  
Her and Elsie are stretched out by the lake, trying to soak up as much of the summer sun as possible, trying not to think of the insane week they have just encountered. “This is nice,” Elsie remarks, stretching her arms out towards the sun. “I wish the end of term could be this relaxing every year.”  
  
Olive nods her head in agreement but says nothing. She knows that everyone else must be relaxed - the attacks have stopped, after all, so there seems to be nothing else to worry about - but she can’t seem to escape what has happened. Although Elsie played a role in the teasing, just like all the other kids in their year, Olive is the only one that has to face the wrath of Myrtle’s spirit. “It’ll be nice to return home,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and imagining a world without Myrtle Warren’s seemingly constant presence.  
  
**July 5, 1943  
  
Olive’s bedroom, Hornby home  
  
8:30 am**  
  
Olive rolls over in bed, her sheets twisting around her body as she shifts, and lets out a small and content sigh. It is early in the morning but the sun is shining through her window and landing on her closed eyes. It is far too bright for her to spend another moment sleeping. Slowly she blinks her blue eyes open, taking in her surroundings. Normally Olive would be upset to find her bedroom at home instead of the Ravenclaw dormitory, but for once she does not mind. Home means she is away from Myrtle, away from the memories that still plague her dreams every night. It is amazing that she is getting any sleep at all because each time her eyes close her mind always drifts to the dead girl.  
  
Children are supposed to be frightened of ghosts, not thirteen year old girls. Olive believes she is far too old to be afraid of spirits, but she can’t help it. Her brother has tried to console her, to tell her that it is not her fault, but she knows he is only saying that because he is his brother and it is more of an obligation than anything else. She knows. Her parents know. Her brother knows. Everyone knows that she was the one to cause Myrtle to go running into that bathroom, tears running down her face.  
  
She sits up in bed, kicking her legs over the side and rising, crossing her room to her vanity. She takes a seat and looks at her face in the mirror. There are dark circles under her eyes, constantly present since the day of June 11th when she stumbled upon the body. Each night she gets less and less sleep and it just seems as if the circles are becoming darker. She tries to cover them up with her makeup, but it almost feels as if there is no use. She slowly reaches up to remove the rollers from her hair, watching as her curls spring free. She smiles as she looks at her hair, something she has always taken pride in. Her eyes may be bloodshot and she may have dark circles, but her hair still looks just as she likes it to.  
  
As Olive reaches to remove the third roller, she hears something behind her. She turns quickly, eyes wide, hoping against hope that it is only her imagination.  
  
Myrtle Warren is floating there. “Hello, Olive.”  
  
**January 13, 1944  
  
Transfiguration Classroom  
  
10:42 am**  
  
She is sitting in Transfiguration Class beside Elsie, waving her wand in frustration over a teapot in the attempt to turn it into a tortoise. Elsie is also struggling, but her teapot has already sprouted a tail. That is much more than Olive has managed to accomplish.  
  
“I can’t do this,” Olive sighs, setting her wand down on the desk and crossing her arms over her chest. Professor Dumbledore is making rounds, looking at all the students’ progress, but his back is turned on them at the moment.  
  
“Come on Olive,” Elsie says, prodding her friend with her elbow. “Come on, you can do it.”  
  
“I can’t.” She is exhausted. She seems to be woken up every fortnight by Myrtle Warren, hovering over her bed, sobbing in the same overdramatic way she did in life. It occasionally wakes up the other girls in her dorm, but they slip back to sleep just as easily as if nothing had happened. Olive doesn’t have that luxury.  
  
Elsie sets down her wand, turning to look at her friend. “Your grades are slipping,” she reminds her.  
  
Olive says nothing. She knows this. Her grades have been slipping all year, and it is all because of Myrtle Warren. Is this what they had subjected her to? Was she always checking over her shoulders, making sure they weren’t there, struggling to fall asleep because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to escape the taunts, even in her dreams? The thought makes Olive Hornby sick to her stomach. With a sigh she picks up her wand once more and continues to wave it hopelessly over the teapot.  
  
She hears the distant sound of high pitched laughter and knows what is coming next. Olive’s face pales as Myrtle flies into the classroom, sobbing. “Do you really hate my glasses, Olive?” she shouts from the front of the room. “Do you? Oh, do you? You are so awful Olive Hornby! So so awful!”  
  
Professor Dumbledore looks up from where he has been helping one of the Gryffindors with their wandwork. “Ms. Warren!” he says, looking up at the ghost. “You know you are not allowed in the classrooms.”  
  
“So so awful,” she cries out again. “You did this to me, Olive. Oh, you are the reason I am like this! It’s all because of you!”  
  
“Ms. Warren, would you like me to call Professor Dippet?”  
  
Myrtle stops her crying at the mention of the Headmaster. She looks down at Dumbledore and then back up at Olive. She makes a face and passes through the wall, leaving the classroom.  
  
Dumbledore turns to look at Olive, her face as pale as a sheet. “Ms. Hornby, perhaps you should go to the Hospital Wing,” he suggests. With shaking hands, Olive nods her head. She rises from her seat and leaves the classroom.  
  
**May 15, 1944  
  
Headmaster’s Office  
  
12:02 pm  
**  
Olive sits frigidly in Professor Dippet’s office, her mother seated beside her. The Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore are seated opposite them.  
  
“She can’t continue on like this,” Mrs. Hornby says, a hand placed on her daughter’s shoulder as she speaks.  
  
“We are trying everything that we can,” Professor Dumbledore says. “The Ministry has bigger problems at the moment. They don’t feel as though there is anything they can do about Myrtle Warren.”  
  
“Olive, when was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?” her mother asks. She says nothing. She can hardly remember. It feels like centuries ago. A millennia, perhaps. “She can’t go on like this.”  
  
“What do you propose we do, Mrs. Hornby?” Professor Dippet asks, resting his hands on his desk as he speaks.  
  
“I want to take her out of school.”  
  
“And you believe that will help her situation?”  
  
“Myrtle doesn’t visit me as often at home,” Olive speaks up, her eyes on her lap and her voice barely above a whisper. “Only sometimes.”  
  
The Headmaster sighs. “If you feel it is better this way.”  
  
Mrs. Hornby nods. “I think it is. I can teach her the theory myself. She won’t be able to do any wandwork until she is of age, but that is the best we can do given the circumstances.”  
  
“Alright,” Professor Dippet says with a nod of his own. “I will be sorry to see you go, Ms. Hornby.”  
  
“I know, sir. Thank you,” is all that she says in reply. She can’t wait to get out of there, as far away from Myrtle Warren as possible.  
  
**June 2, 1945  
  
Wedding Reception, Hornby Home  
  
4:52 pm**  
  
The first four months had been pure bliss. Olive had slept each night, not having to worry about Myrtle Warren - apparently now nicknamed Moaning Myrtle by the first years that had arrived that September to her wailing in the girl’s lavatory. It had taken her until the next September to realize that Olive was, in fact, not returning to school. That was when she had decided to make appearances to her home every fortnight. It was not nearly as often as when she had been at Hogwarts - it was a long way to travel, after all - but she tended to stay longer, screaming and crying and blaming Olive for all of her problems. Her mother had written countless letters to the Ministry but they still refused to intervene. If she had to put up with the ghost for much longer, Olive was sure she was going to lose it.  
  
Not today, however. No, today she is going to be perfectly put together, today she is going to pretend that she does not have the ghost of a twelve year old girl haunting her, making her pay for the crimes she had committed at the age of thirteen. No, now Olive Hornby is fifteen. She is practically a woman and she is going to act like it.  
  
She sits at one of the tables, feet crossed at the ankles as she smoothes out her dress. Her brother had been married less than an hour before and the festivities are about to begin. A live band is preparing to play music and Olive is ready to dance the night away. She likes her brother’s wife and she couldn’t be happier for them. She wants him to have a happy life, away from her and Moaning Myrtle. The name is so incredibly fitting that she can’t believe that it didn’t come straight out of her own mouth in second year.  
  
“Olive!” Her new brother-in-law is running over to her, his blonde hair slicked back and his tie hanging slightly crooked on his neck. He is thirteen, only two years her junior, but she has always struggled to spend time with him. Perhaps it is because she wants to forget her own thirteen year old self so badly. “Come! Dance with me!”  
  
“Alright.” She doesn’t want to reject him. They are family now, after all, and she will have to learn to enjoy his company sooner or later. The band is playing a few scales, warming up for when the real celebrations begin, but the two teenagers began to dance, grabbing the attention of some of the people standing nearby. A couple family members clap and Olive finds her cheeks heating up, a laugh escaping her lips which are parted into a smile. When was the last time she laughed like this? When was the last time she really, truly, felt this carefree? It has been years.  
  
“You’re pretty ace at this,” he says as he reaches out to spin her around in a circle.  
  
“You’re pretty good yourself,” she replies, not able to keep the smile off of her face. The music has stopped but they continue to dance. She is lost in her own world with this boy who is now a part of her family and she couldn’t be happier. Maybe everything will be okay.  
  
**June 2, 1945  
  
Wedding Reception, Hornby Home  
  
5:24 pm**  
  
The bride and groom have taken to the dance floor for the first official dance of the evening and Olive is sitting at a table with her brother-in-law, watching as the couple dances to a slow song being played by the band. She smiles contently, resting her head in her hand as she watches them spin around the dance floor. Olive watches out of the corner of her eyes as he father takes her mother’s hand and leads her onto the dance floor to join the newlyweds. Other couples follow suit but Olive remains where she is, watching the festivities, feeling a sense of relief wash over her.  
  
And that is when she hears it. The laughter that has haunted her dreams for the past two years, the laughter that can only come from one place. Moaning Myrtle is flying towards the reception, sobbing in the way that she always does. Olive screams and covers her ears. The band stops playing at the sound of her scream and everyone looks up to where Myrtle is floating in the air.  
  
“You did this to me!” Myrtle shouts, swooping lower so that she is at eye level with Olive. She lets out a shriek and tries to bury her face in the table cloth, her arms over her head like a shield. “You’re the reason I can never have this!” She cries, floating over to their small garden fountain. Olive looks up and watches as the water begins to pour out faster, quickly beginning to overflow over the sides and running towards the reception. “If I can’t be happy than neither can any of you!”  
  
Olive has begun to cry. She had thought it would be a normal day, a day with no distractions where she could be herself and not have to worry about Myrtle Warren. She had been foolish to think such a thing was possible.  
  
“Go away!” Mrs. Hornby shouts at the ghost of Myrtle. “I will take this to the Ministry! I swear I will!”  
  
Moaning Myrtle ignores her threats. “Oh, I can never get married and it’s all because of you, Olive Hornby! All because you thought my glasses were ugly, and my face was pimply, and my hair was greasy, and I was fat!”  
  
Two years prior Olive would have come back with a remark that no one would have married Myrtle anyways because she was far too ugly, but she is far too petrified of the ghost now to say anything. She just continues to sob, holding her hands over her head and praying that Myrtle will leave them alone. She feels something wet rushing past her feet and she can only assume that it is the water that Myrtle is trying to flood the reception with. She is still shrieking in that whiny voice of hers, blaming Olive for everything, and people are still hurrying around trying to stop the water or move everything before it all gets wet. Olive just continues to sob, not sure what else to do.  
  
**June 3, 1945  
  
Family Room, Hornby Home  
  
3:15 pm**  
  
Thomas Bobbin, Head of the Spirit Division of the Ministry, is sitting before Olive and her parents. “I’ve spoken with Minister Spencer-Moon,” he says, his hands resting comfortably on his lap as he looks at the family. “We’ve sent the spirit of Myrtle Warren back to Hogwarts. She’s not allowed to leave. You will never be bothered by her again.”  
  
Olive begins to cry. At first they are a few tears but soon sobs begin to wrack her body and she has to double over, covering her face with her hands.  
  
“Is she alright?” Thomas Bobbin asks, leaning forward slightly in her seat.  
  
“Olive?” her mother asks, peering down at her.  
  
She slowly nods her head. “I’m happy,” she explains, wiping at the tears in her eyes and attempting to regain her composure. “I’m just… so happy.” She may never be able to return to Hogwarts and she might never get a proper education, but Moaning Myrtle is gone. She has paid her dues. She received two years of agony for the two that she had subjected the girl to when they were merely children. She will never have to see the ghost of Myrtle Warren ever again. She can sleep. She can _live_.  
  
Still, as they rise from their seats and thank Thomas Bobbin for all of his help and wish him safe travels back to the Ministry as he steps into their fireplace, Olive can’t help thinking that she will never forget this. Myrtle will always be there, in the back of her mind, in her dreams every time she manages to get a good night’s rest. No, Olive will never forget Myrtle Warren. Not until her dying day.


End file.
